Newfound Light
by khasael
Summary: Harry is frustrated by the way Draco refuses to open up and take chances. Sequel to "Redemption".


**Title**: Newfound Light

**Fandom**: Harry Potter

**Pairing**: Harry/Draco

**Era**: Post-Hogwarts (approx 10 years). Canon-compliant, but does not take into account the epilogue.

**Rating**: PG-13 / T (a small bit of cursing might bump it up, but it'd be a _very_ mild R)

**Warnings**: Very brief mention of past self-harm, angst, a little bit of cursing

**Word Count**: ~14,000

**Beta**: The lovely and talented Hanelissar. All remaining mistakes are mine, not hers.

**Summary**: Harry is frustrated by the way Draco refuses to open up and take chances. Sequel to "Redemption".

Disclaimer: This piece of fiction is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made, no copyright or trademark infringement, or offence is intended. All characters depicted in sexual situations are above the age of consent.

**Author's Note**: _This is the second story in a series of three. The first is from Draco's POV, and can be found at _.net/s/5638687/1/Redemption

Newfound Light

"_Lumos_."

Harry murmured the word and pointed his wand toward the floor. Draco hadn't stirred at the noise, nor at the light emanating from the wand. That was good. He needed his sleep. A quick glance at the clock told him they'd been asleep for an hour at most. He didn't remember clicking the television off, and wondered if Draco had done it, or if there was a timer of some sort. He shrugged to himself as he slipped on his shoes and straightened the glasses that had slid to the tip of his nose. It didn't matter.

Pulling a blanket from the cupboard, Harry draped it gently over the sleeping form on the sofa, pausing when Draco shifted into a more comfortable position. He let out his breath silently. Still sleeping. He tiptoed to the front door and closed it behind him as quietly as possible. Apparating inside would make too loud a noise, and Draco could be a light sleeper.

He Apparated home on the deserted street instead, shivering in the cold. He had a few hours until sunrise, time enough to sleep in his own bed before getting ready for work. As he closed his eyes for the night, he saw Draco's face in the darkness. Their relationship had been so slow in developing. First, the friendship, which he'd seemed to resist. And then that jump into the physical.

Harry bit his lip. He didn't understand Draco most of the time. That nibble on his lower lip after Harry'd kissed him, Apparating away before Harry could get his wits about him. Greeting him at the door in an old pullover and a pair of boxers. And later that night, giving him the best snogging Harry'd had in over a year. It had been a gentle, awkwardly passionate thing, as if he were determined to do it _right_—not in technique, but in feeling, something the Draco Malfoy he'd known back in school couldn't have been capable of. But then again, this Malfoy wasn't that old one. It was something he was reminded of nearly every day.

Harry sighed and rolled over. His bed was much too big. Everything in this house was too big for him. He wanted to share this space more often. He wanted to wake to see Draco's blond hair on the pillow next to his, shining in the morning sun. He wanted to see the angles of his body underneath the crisp sheet. But it had been nearly three months since they'd crossed the line over from friends, and they still hadn't slept together. Hell, they hadn't even slept _over_ yet. He knew Draco'd slept with other men, that it wasn't something to do with coming to terms with his sexuality. He'd done that back at Hogwarts, more than ten years before Harry had even put together his own feelings on the matter. But if he was nothing else, Draco was cautious. No, that wasn't it. He was guarded. Harry could understand that. He just wished it wasn't so pervasive, that Draco could recognise when he was safe and act accordingly.

~*~

Friday night found them once again at the Briarwood Pub, sitting at a table in the far corner, away from the Muggles flirting and trying to pick up someone to take home, or yelling at the television when the wrong team scored. This had become something of a tradition between them, shedding their robes and meeting at the pub after the working week was done. Harry waved Draco over when he entered, gesturing to the food and first round of drinks already waiting for them. "Work keep you late?"

Draco sat heavily. "Not exactly."

"You want to talk about it?"

Picking up his pint, not even bothering with the food first, Draco shook his head, perfectly slicked back hair immobile. He looked good enough like that, but Harry preferred the natural look, the way he wore his hair loose and soft on the weekends, to this sharp, severe version. The weekend Draco was the one he'd never seen back in school. If he'd had, maybe things would have been different between them. Or maybe not.

"Sure?"

"I'm positive. I don't want to think about it, let alone speak of it." He took another long drink, and when he put the glass back on the table, Harry saw that on this subject, a large, thick barrier had formed. Draco caught him looking and offered a smile that didn't reach past his mouth. His eyes were still troubled. "How was your day?"

"Boring. But sometimes that's nice." He nudged Draco's hand. "I get the feeling that you could use a boring day now and then."

"My own fault for not staying in the back. I should know better by now."

"Problems with the customers?" Harry tried to sound casual about it, but from the pinched look on Draco's face, he knew he had hit the nail on the head. "You shouldn't let them get to you, you know."

"Easy for you to say, Harry. Everyone loves you. You're respected. Lauded."

"That's not exactly true. At one point, a good enough number of people wanted me dead." He saw Draco pale and start. If his glass had been more than half full, he would have spilled it. Whoops. "Er, what I mean is, there are enough people who aren't happy that I'm still around." He put his hand on top of Draco's and squeezed.

After a quick look around to see who might be looking at them, Draco squeezed back, a firmness there that warmed Harry. "Well, then you certainly don't mean me."

He smiled back, liking the feel of Draco's narrow fingers entwined with his. "I wanted to ask you something."

"You? Have a question? Never." The stress and caution were replaced with a smirk. Whenever Harry saw that expression, he wanted to kiss Draco. If he had felt this way about him back in school, classes would have been a lot more interesting. Potentially disastrous and certainly distracting, but interesting nonetheless.

"Funny. Did you have plans next weekend?"

"Harry, do I ever have plans that aren't with you?"

"Well, you don't tell me everything, you know. You might."

"But I don't."

"Alright. Anyway, I have a pair of tickets to the symphony on Sunday. I was hoping you'd want to accompany me."

The defences came back up, wiping away the humour on Draco's face. "Which symphony?"

"_The Magic of Music_."

"I'm assuming that isn't some coincidental Muggle title. You mean something that's performed at Marlene McKinnon Music Hall?"

"Yes."

"Then no."

Harry felt his blood pressure rise. "You're going to say no just because it's being held there?"

"No, Potter, I'm saying no because I don't feel like being in the public eye all evening, and that's somewhat of a concern when I'm with you. What happened to me today—"

"What _did_ happen today?" he asked, but Draco went right on as if he hadn't even heard him.

"—is only one of the many times I've realised that my decision to stay as unnoticed as possible was the best one, if I'm to continue living anywhere near here."

They'd had this discussion before. More than once. "Well, what about that first Quidditch game we went to? That was okay, wasn't it? No one said a thing to you, did they?" He waited while Draco searched for an argument that Harry knew wasn't there. "See? We'll be two people out of a thousand or more. The seats won't be anywhere prominent. And it'll be dark. Come on. Please."

He saw some of Draco's resolve weaken and he thought that he might just win this time. "I really want to share the evening with you," he added softly, giving Draco's hand another squeeze.

Draco looked down at their joined hands, then up into Harry's face. "Okay," he said quietly. If Harry hadn't been looking so intently at him, he would have missed it.

"Thank you. It means a lot to me."

Giving him a sick little smile, Draco nodded. Harry felt a little guilty for inducing that look, but this was really for Draco's own good. He couldn't just hide away forever. He needed to put it all behind him and start living his life.

They didn't stay at the pub long. Harry invited Draco back to his place, even though Draco lived only four streets away. He wanted to see Draco relaxed. It was something that he'd begun to notice as they started seeing each other as something more than friends. Sure, Draco could look cool and calm about a lot of things, but real, true relaxation and comfort was a much rarer state. It wasn't something he was sure he had ever seen out in public.

"I'm sorry I'm not such good company," Draco told him shortly after they'd arrived and hit a snag in conversation.

"You're fine company," Harry told him, lightly placing a kiss on his mouth. He felt Draco's tension ease at that, returning the kiss softly at first, then with more passion. He loved the way Draco's kisses were so easy to read, even when the rest of him wasn't. Harry knew when he was excited, or relaxed, or distracted. Tonight, Draco's kisses were grateful, as if he was as eager to lose himself and his difficult day in Harry as Harry was to be his refuge.

He moved to pull Draco's jumper over his head, but his hand was stopped. This part was still frustrating. He knew those scars were there, knew what they reminded Draco of, even if it was stupid and he should be the one to feel guilt over them. "It's okay," he breathed into Draco's ear, and felt the strong hand let go of his, letting him do what he wanted. He leaned back from his place straddling Draco's lap and lifted the expensive-looking jumper off, tossing it to the floor. Something about tonight felt different, and it wasn't just the intensity of the kisses that were landing on his jaw or his mouth, or the way Draco was gripping his hips.

In the end, it was Draco that motioned toward the bedroom and asked to move their activity there. "Are you sure?" Harry asked through the haze of lust. This was something he wanted, had wanted for a while, but Draco had seemed too reluctant, always ending their nights frustratingly early. There had been that one night, two weeks ago, where things had almost gotten to this point, but Draco had clammed up and hurried home, leaving Harry frustrated, hurt, and with not an inconsiderable amount of discomfort.

"I'm sure."

Harry didn't want to argue. He led Draco into the bedroom, wishing he'd cleaned the place up a little before work. He saw Draco take in the unmade bed and the small pile of clothing on the floor. "Sorry for the mess and the unmade—"

"It's fine. We'll only mess it up further anyway." Draco's voice was deep with a lust that Harry thrilled at. He'd heard desire from Draco before, but never so intensely.

They tumbled into the bed, shedding clothing as they went. The long-sleeved shirt always seemed to be the hardest thing to remove from Draco, but with that gone, everything else followed quickly. He ran his hands over Draco's scarred chest, feeling the slight shudder of that otherwise perfect, pale skin beneath his fingertips. The scars didn't detract from his beauty, but Harry still wished they weren't there. They _shouldn't_ be there. But because of him, they were. Moving slowly, Harry gently kissed the one that crossed over Draco's left collarbone, gauging his reaction.

He could sense Draco's hesitation, but after the space of one or two quick heartbeats, Draco gripped Harry's hips harder, digging his fingernails into the flesh there. Harry slid his hands up the small of Draco's back and pulled him closer. "I've been waiting for this," he whispered, moaning as Draco buried his face into his shoulder, running his tongue from the crook of Harry's neck to his jawbone. "Tease," he muttered, finding words again.

Grinning mischievously, smile finally reaching those silvery eyes, Draco laughed, sounding genuinely amused for the first time in weeks. "Who says I won't deliver this time?" he answered, pulling Harry on top of him as he fell into the bed. It was the promise Harry'd been waiting to hear.

~*~

It had been awkward.

That wasn't to say Harry hadn't enjoyed being in bed with Malfoy (and when he had momentarily gone from Draco back to Malfoy Harry couldn't say exactly, but he thought it might have been around the time he'd acquired the perfect imprint of the other man's bite on his shoulder). But the awkwardness of their first time together had been compounded by the fact that it was Harry's first time.

They'd hit a pause in their frantic rhythm, and Harry realized that he had no damned idea if Draco was going to be the top or bottom for this encounter, or if they'd work out something more mutual. When he'd finally voiced his concern, Draco'd stopped, face flushed in the moonlight. "Which do you usually prefer?"

"I don't exactly know."

"Well, which have you been most often?"

Harry hadn't been able to look him in the eye. "Neither?"

"I thought you said you'd been with other men before me."

"Er. Not exactly. I'd told you I'd kissed other men before you. Twice. And it's not as if I'm a virgin, exactly. I've just never slept with another man."

Draco'd smiled, somehow managing not to make Harry want to disappear. "Then we'll go slowly," he said, brushing Harry's messy locks from his forehead. "Just trust me."

And trust him he had. He'd drifted off to sleep shortly afterward, waking when he rolled over and found the other half of the bed empty again. "Draco?"

"Hm?" came the soft reply, from somewhere near the foot of the bed. "Did I wake you?"

"No." Harry found his glasses and put them on, seeing Draco partially dressed in that soft jumper and not much else, though his trousers were over his arm. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, Harry. Go back to bed. It's late. I'm just headed home." He moved back toward Harry's side of the bed and leaned over, placing a tentative kiss on the corner of Harry's mouth.

He gripped Draco's wrist, noting the grimace as Harry's fingers wrapped around the bottommost part of the scar tissue there. "Stay."

"What?"

"Stay. For the night. I'm tired of one of us sneaking out late at night, leaving the other to wake up alone. I don't want that. I want to fall asleep next to you and wake up the same way."

"Are you sure?" Draco asked softly, echoing Harry's earlier question.

"Of course I am."

Draco hesitated, finally folding his trousers and placed them neatly on the window seat, then removing his jumper and doing the same with it. He eased slowly, cautiously, back into the bed, as if he was afraid making a quick movement would break something. Harry waited until he'd lain down, then rolled over and pulled Draco close to him. Malfoy tensed, then gradually relaxed, wrapping his arms gently around Harry. Smiling, Harry kissed one of the deepest scars, hoping in some secret place inside him that he could make them go away, and rested his head on Draco's shoulder. He fell asleep that way, warm and comfortable with those thin arms encircling him.

When he woke in the early morning sun streaming through the curtains, Draco was still there, though he was facing away from Harry, toward the window, sitting with his head in his hands. The line of his back and shoulders gave away the weariness he didn't usually let Harry see.

Harry put a hand on Draco's back, surprised by just how hard he flinched at the touch. "Sorry. Didn't mean to startle you."

Straightening up, Draco shook his head as if to clear it. "I hadn't realised you were awake."

"Are the nightmares back?"

Draco gave him a half-hearted smile, lit by the pink and purple light from the rising sun. "I'd forgotten I told you about those. No, they're still gone. Haven't had one in weeks."

Harry looked into his face, studying it closely. He almost believed him. He might be able to buy that those dreams, the ones about Voldemort and his father and the war, had stopped coming. But judging by the way he'd been sitting with his head in his hands and the purplish-blue crescents underneath his eyes, Harry didn't believe that Draco's sleep was undisturbed or restful in the slightest. But he knew that if he pried, he'd get nowhere. If Draco didn't want to talk about something, he wouldn't. "Good."

He gave Draco's arm a light tug, and Draco came easily to him, fitting their bodies perfectly together under the soft blanket. His body was graceful but just a little too thin, and Harry wondered how it would look if Draco ever got a decent amount of sleep and stopped worrying so much of the time. He was beautiful as he was, but gods, it hurt to see that at times, he seemed so delicate. It was those times, like now, where Harry just wanted to take him in his arms and make everything right, as if he could fix his entire world. He had to settle for holding onto Draco and slowly stroking his fingers through that platinum blond hair until all traces of tension left his body and he drifted down into sleep, leaving Harry to watch over him as he rested in the early morning hours.

~*~

"You clean up well, Potter," Draco told him with an appraising eye.

Harry flushed, hating how easily he turned red around Draco. "Not anywhere near as well as you do, I'm afraid." He'd thought he looked okay in these dress robes, Hermione had _told _him he did when they'd bought them a few months ago, but he couldn't come close to pulling off the polished look nearly as well as Draco did.

"Well, there is the matter of your hair, but I suppose that can't be helped." Draco crossed over to him and planted a kiss directly on his mouth. Nervous, but determined, Harry judged. His face displayed a little smirk, the default haughty one Harry knew so well from their Hogwarts days, but it didn't sit entirely right on him anymore, if you looked close enough. Harry thought that most people didn't. "That's always been a hopeless cause."

"Are you ready?"

There was a little flicker behind those grey eyes. "Yes." His jaw set. "I am. Let's go."

Harry didn't give him a chance to change his mind. A sleek black car pulled up in front of the house as they stepped outside, and he felt Draco's step falter beside him as he caught sight of it. "Is this our ride?"

"Yes. Is it not nice enough?" He didn't know much about vehicles, but it looked fancy enough to him.

"Of course it is, but… Bloody hell, Harry, is this a Ministry car?"

"I guess so. The tickets were a gift from the Minister."

"I thought you'd promised we wouldn't be a spectacle. You said the seats weren't prominent. I didn't think I needed to ask you about the transportation."

"Honestly, I didn't know about the car until this morning. And the driver won't be pulling up to the front entrance or anything like that. There's a quiet little side door for VIPs."

Draco groaned. "Is that what we are? VIPs?"

"Guests of the Minister, technically." He saw the panicked look on Draco's face and headed off the protests. "He won't be in attendance tonight, don't worry. He was there for opening night last night. And the seats were originally where anyone could see us, but I asked and had them changed to somewhere out of the way. For you." He didn't let Draco see how much this whole thing bothered him. It was like Draco was ashamed of him. Fifteen years ago, he would have assumed it was because he wasn't pure-blood, or something stupid like that. Now, he didn't know _what_ the exact reason was, but that didn't keep him from feeling a little resentful. He ignored the fact that after the war, he'd wanted to blend in as much as possible, wanting to be treated like any other person. It hadn't been an option, and the relative privacy he now had was something he enjoyed, even if he did have to pay for it with occasional speeches and dedications and invitations to events in wizarding London. He'd always taken Ron, Hermione, Neville, Ginny, or Luna to these events before. But now that Draco was a part of his life…

Draco took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "Thank you." He flashed Harry a look that almost made up for the secrecy and the trouble. "I mean that."

"I know you do. Now get in the car, or we'll be late, and I'm sure you don't want to make that kind of entrance." He didn't spare a glance at Draco's panicked face, pushing him to the car instead. Once they got inside, he'd relax.

Harry was partially right. Once they got into the VIP lounge, Draco let himself relax a little. The room was large enough to hold a banquet, and decorated lavishly with sculptures and exquisite furniture, the kind that Draco likely felt more at home around than Harry ever would. After a look around at the few other people milling about, Draco dragged him to a mostly-hidden corner, where they could stand and talk before the ushers allowed them in to be seated. Once there, he let out a shaky breath and let his tense shoulders fall into a more natural pose. "I suppose this isn't so bad."

"I told you it'd be fine. Didn't you trust me?"

"It's not that… It's just… Never mind." Draco used his this-subject-is-closed tone, the one that maddened Harry. He chose not to say anything about it. The whole point of asking Draco was to spend a night out with him, showing him that they could have a good time somewhere that wasn't in Muggle London or one of their own residences. He didn't _have_ to keep hiding.

Someone walked by, offering a tray of delicate champagne flutes. Draco kept his head down, but Harry took two glasses, thanked the woman, and handed one to Draco. "What shall we toast to?"

Malfoy considered the drink, not looking at Harry. "Our lives were dark before we found each other. To newfound light," he whispered.

Harry's breath caught in his throat. It was true that this new relationship had made him happier and more complete than he had felt in a long time, though 'dark' may not have been the phrase he'd use. But Draco didn't often say things like this, unguarded and honest, and…_open_. "To newfound light," he repeated, clinking Draco's glass with his own. He offered a smile as Draco finally looked up at him, and felt his pulse quicken when he saw the elusive, genuinely shy smile given back to him. That look. Harry could have fought a war with nothing but that to look forward to.

At Draco's request, they slunk into their seats just as the lights went down. He kept catching glimpses of Draco fidgeting with the programme in his lap, or trying to disappear into the back of his seat. Twenty minutes in, Harry leaned over in the dark. "Hey. Relax," he breathed into Draco's ear. "Stop worrying. I want… I want you to enjoy this. If you want, we'll leave at the interval."

Draco gave his knee a quick squeeze and took a breath so deep it was almost audible over the light melody of the current song. "Okay."

By the time the interval had rolled around, however, Draco seemed okay, and dismissed the idea of leaving early. They left after the show, Harry pausing to greet people he knew, some from work, some from the Ministry, and some from back at school. Draco held back, staying far enough away that no one acknowledged him. Harry did have to give him credit—when he wanted to remain unnoticed, he wasn't bad at it. It was a skill he'd undoubtedly developed after their years in school together. He turned to tell Draco that he was ready to go, only to find him conversing with Blaise Zabini. Draco caught Harry's eye, excused himself from Zabini, and joined Harry near the door, where they stepped out and into the waiting car.

"Catching up with an old friend?" Harry asked. He hadn't seen Draco speak to anyone who wasn't Muggle outside of when he'd seen him briefly at work.

"Something like that. He saw me and came over to say hello. I don't think I've seen him in over five years. Did you know he works for the Ministry?"

"I did, actually. Broom Regulatory Control, isn't it?"

"He didn't say. It was just a quick hello, and Blaise and I were never particularly close to begin with. I don't exactly keep in touch with many of our schoolmates. There's just one, and even with her…Well, I still don't keep in contact like I should."

"You should try."

"I didn't exactly think you'd be one to encourage me to spend time with other Slytherins."

"Well… We're not in school anymore. We're all just wizards."

"Typical Potter. Promoting unity at every turn."

"No, I just think you should…"

"Should what?" He sounded suspicious.

He thought a moment. He wanted this to come out right, and he didn't want to start an argument. "Should see more of your friends. Instead of relying on me for everything."

"Oh? It's like that?"

Harry realised too late how that sounded. "No! I mean, I think it would be good for you to get out more. Stop hiding. That's all I meant."

Draco's sudden irritation and foul mood somehow managed to both decrease and ramp up at the same time. It was something only a Malfoy could accomplish, Harry was sure. "What if I don't want to?" he said hotly, and Harry half-expected him to stomp his feet and yell something like _"you can't make me!"_

He pulled Draco's right hand out of his lap, where it was rubbing at the scar on his other arm. "Then don't. If you really don't want to, don't. I just thought you might enjoy time with friends." He gave the hand a squeeze. "And I don't want you to get sick of me."

Draco finally relaxed at that, colour still high even though his spine wasn't rigid, and wove his fingers through Harry's. "That's not something you have to worry about."

~*~

Before his day even properly began, Harry knew it wasn't going to end well.

He'd woken up alone again. He'd known he would, as Draco had left around midnight, but he still didn't like it, and it put his day off a little. By the time he'd showered and dressed, he was over it for the most part. He bought a paper and a cup of coffee just before entering Gringotts. He was running early, and was looking forward to taking a bit of time to ease into his day, reading the _Prophet_ and savouring his coffee. He sat at his desk and relaxed.

It lasted all of three seconds.

**CHOSEN ONE EXTENDS A HAND TO OLD RIVAL** screamed at him from the front page. Next to that was a photograph of him and Draco in the VIP lounge, smiling cautiously as they clinked champagne flutes, and a smaller caption that read _A gracious Harry Potter offers acquitted Dark Wizard Draco Malfoy a toast._

Draco was going to be _furious_.

He scanned the article, wondering how he could have missed it when he paid for the thing earlier. Rita Skeeter at her finest. The gist of it was that he was spending time with Draco, attempting to redeem him or make the rest of the world put the Malfoys' past behind them, or some ridiculous thing like that. There was no real consideration that they might actually be friends, or that Draco was anything more to Harry than a pet project. That woman was the worst combination of vicious and dense.

Harry didn't even bother going home first after work. Instead, he tucked his robes under his arm and waited outside the door to Draco's flat. Assuming he hadn't gone straight to Grimmauld Place after work to yell at Harry, Draco would be home in fewer than ten minutes.

Draco finally stepped off the lift and into the hallway, and Harry watched him slow his pace and fumble for his keys. Harry was still thrown off by how many Muggle habits Malfoy had picked up, integrating them so seamlessly into his way of life. It was the little things, like carrying a key ring instead of whispering _Alohamora_ and setting wards over the door, or owning and using a mobile. It was perplexingly charming.

Harry braced himself for Draco's temper. Though he hadn't seen it since they were younger, he remembered it well. Spoiled brat that he was (or was it _had been_?), he could throw a tantrum with the best of them. And Merlin, had Malfoy been awful when provoked.

So when Draco greeted him with a nod and a quiet "Hello, Harry," he hadn't been able to do much more than blink in surprise. "Would you like to come in?"

Harry swallowed all of the rebuttals and apologies and nodded instead. "I would." He followed Draco inside, placing his untidily balled-up robes on the arm of the sofa. Giving him a look he couldn't read, Draco hung his own robes and held out a hand for Harry's. Harry handed them over, a little sheepish. But if Draco was offering to properly hang his robes, then he probably wasn't going to kick him out immediately. In fact, he didn't even look angry. Harry couldn't tell _what_ Draco was feeling from the expression on his face. It was unnerving.

"I guess you're wondering why I stopped by?" he tried after another moment of silence.

Draco shook his head, his grey eyes dull, as if the hue was simply a lack of colour instead of his usual distinct shade. "Not precisely. I'm guessing it has to do with the front page of today's _Prophet_."

"So you've seen it, then?"

Running a hand through his immaculate hairstyle, Draco sighed. Strands of his hair stuck up at odd angles, and Harry resisted the urge to put it right or finish the job. "That would be putting it mildly. I've been hearing about it since I arrived at work. The Jiggers have already lost a few customers, since Rita was kind enough to mention my place of employment. I spent a good deal of my day apologising for that, but luckily, Terry Jigger's confident enough that the high quality of my work speaks for itself, and that will retain most of our client base, rendering the boycotters ineffective."

"But you don't seem angry."

"Is that why you stopped by? You thought I'd be angry?"

Harry would have given a lot of things to know what that tone and distrustful look meant. "Honestly? Yes."

"And why would you think that what I'd be feeling was anger?"

Harry threw his hands up in the air. "Why wouldn't I think that? Damn it, Draco, you were so insistent on remaining out of the public eye, I half-expected you to hex me on sight. Especially since I promised you no one would pay us any attention."

"Oh. Of course," was the quiet reply.

"Well, if you're not angry, then what the hell are you?"

"Nothing. I'm fine."

"You used to be a much better liar, Malfoy. Whatever you're feeling, 'fine' isn't it, though I'll be damned if I know what's actually bothering you." He saw Draco's lips thin and made a quick decision, sitting on the sofa and crossing his arms. "I'm not moving until you tell me what's wrong."

One blond eyebrow went up. "You really would sit there until morning, wouldn't you?"

"I have weeks of personal holiday time accumulated at Gringotts. I can sit here a lot longer than you think."

Draco shook his head, but something in the posture of his body and the set of his jaw softened. "You're such a child sometimes, Potter."

"Comes from having to be an adult too early. Now, out with it. What's the matter?"

Instead of giving a direct answer, Draco asked a question. Harry should have known it wouldn't be that easy. "How much of that article is true?"

Peering over the tops of his glasses, Harry snorted. "It's Rita Skeeter. I'd say we're lucky she got our names right."

Draco dropped his eyes to the floor. "So there's no truth to the idea that I'm just a project to you?"

"No!" The idea was insulting.

"So you never feel like you have to fix me?"

Harry hesitated. He _had_ had thoughts about wanting to make things better in Draco's life. He thought that getting out and spending time with friends would be good for him. And he was so fucking _closed off_ most of the time that Harry wondered if there was a way to get him to open up. But if he said any of these things, Draco would misunderstand, and he had the feeling that he was walking a thin line on this as it was. "Are you trying to tell me you honestly believe anything that woman writes?" If Draco could answer a question with a question, then he could do the same.

Draco didn't reply, but the flush that rose to his cheeks and the way he avoided Harry's eyes was answer enough. Harry realised with a sick little jolt that Rita's article had simply put some of Draco's fears into words.

Harry stood up and crossed the room, taking Draco's chin in his hands when he reached him. He placed a kiss on Draco's soft lips, hurt a bit when he wasn't kissed back. "Malfoy, you git. Since when has that woman ever written a shred of truth? You yourself spoon-fed her all those lies fourth year. Unless you actually _believed_ all that rubbish?"

A small smile flitted across Draco's lips, gone even before Harry was positive he'd seen it. He'd take that.

"If it's the truth you're worried about, I'll owl the _Prophet_ right now and insist they print a retraction. Or even give them the real story."

"You wouldn't be…ashamed to admit to the whole world that we're…?" He trailed off and Harry wasn't sure if it was because he was embarrassed about it, of if he didn't know what they were himself.

"Lovers? No. I've given up caring what the world thinks of me, anyway. My sexuality isn't any of their business, but I'm not going to go out of my way to hide it."

"And you're not concerned with the fact that you're with me, of all possible people?"

"Why the hell would I be?"

Something that looked like both relief and apprehension hung around Draco for a moment before he pulled everything tight around himself again. "You don't have to contact the _Prophet_." A wicked grin hit his lips and stayed there, a bit of the old Malfoy shining through. "But can you imagine the look on that woman's face if she found out the story she wrote was nowhere as sensational as the truth? Spending time together is one thing, but The Boy Who Lived shagging his once-nemesis?" He laughed, and Harry felt that things were more or less alright between them again. "It just might drive her apoplectic."

~*~

Harry had believed that after their conversation about Rita's front page article, Draco might be free of his hang-ups. But he still seemed as guarded as ever. He was one person out in Muggle London, and little more than a ghost in wizarding London. In the privacy of their own homes, he was yet someone else, though Harry didn't think that this person was the real Draco Malfoy either. Where the hell that person was, Harry didn't know, and he was starting to wonder if he'd ever meet him.

"Look, Draco, all I'm asking is for you to stop by for a little bit. I'll have been at the shop all day, giving up my weekend for this. It's not like I'm asking you to pitch in and help out."

"I'm sorry, but my answer's still no."

The look on Draco's face clearly said he was irritated with Harry's nagging, but Harry couldn't seem to stop pushing. "But _why_? What do you have against the Weasleys?" He knew Draco would never use the term 'blood traitor' seriously these days, but he had no idea why he was so damned insistent on avoiding them. This couldn't go on forever. The Weasleys were the closest thing he had to family, and Draco was going to have to recognise that sooner or later.

"It's not what I have against them, Harry. It's what they'd have against me."

"Not everyone hates you as much as you assume, Draco. That's just some of that famous Malfoy vanity."

"Is it? You think they could see me and not remember how my father almost got their only daughter killed? Or that they've forgotten I was the one who allowed that monster Fenrir into the school, disfiguring one of their sons? I could go on, you know." Harry didn't have a good answer. He remembered the Chamber of Secrets, of course, but Draco wasn't his damned father. But he had nearly forgotten about Bill's scars. He didn't really notice them anymore, though they were as deep as ever. And though Ron, Hermione, and Molly (and likely Arthur, since he'd told Molly) knew about his relationship with Draco, he couldn't guarantee that every last Weasley would openly welcome him.

Draco read his silence well enough. "See? Not everyone is as forgiving as you are, Harry."

"Damn it, Draco, I'm tired of these conversations. I just—I just want to spend some time with you this weekend. I can't make it Friday night, and I'll be busy all of Saturday and Sunday."

"I understand, Harry, I do, but I don't think it's a good idea." Harry opened his mouth to argue the point some more, sure he could change Draco's mind with just a little more effort, but Draco silenced him by lightly pressing his finger to Harry's lips, his touch light and brief. "But what about a compromise?"

"What kind of compromise?"

"I won't be by Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. But what if I meet you at the ice cream parlour for a bit on Saturday—"

Harry once again made as if to argue, but the other man hadn't finished speaking.

"—and if you want, I'll stay overnight at Grimmauld Place."

Harry's heart fluttered, all arguments forgotten. Whoever the real Draco was, Harry thought he was most like the man he'd woken up next to only once before. Hearing Draco's soft breathing in the early morning stillness and feeling Draco's warm skin pressed against his own as the sun shone on that silky blond hair had let him know how much he wanted this to work. He'd redoubled his efforts to get Draco out into the world at that point, eager to show him what they could have together if only he would _try_. "Saturday and Sunday?"

"Is that what you want?"

What he wanted was for Draco to stay over every night, but that was a conversation for another time. "Yes."

"Then I'll stay both evenings."

Harry smiled and pulled Draco down on top of him, mindless of the discomfort where he was leaning against his balled-up robe and wand. Draco's mouth was warm and pliant, his kiss relieved, and Harry lost himself in it, content for the moment.

~*~

Dragging himself into Florean's old shop, Harry caught sight of Draco's loose blond hair from the doorway. He took a look at the line and groaned inwardly. Why was it so busy in an ice cream parlour in mid-January? He'd promised Ron, Percy, and George that he wouldn't be gone too long, and he didn't want to break that promise. They still had so much work to do, inventorying everything and resetting displays and packing up boxes. Even using packing spells, the work was taking quite a long time. But it would be worth it when George opened the new Hogsmeade location. He'd had to keep telling himself that to keep from 'accidentally' dropping boxes on Percy's toes. There was orderly, and there was insufferably obsessive, and even after all these years, the primmest Weasley brother hadn't relaxed much. At least Harry'd had his rendezvous with Draco to look forward to, even if he didn't end up with enough time to enjoy an ice cream.

When he reached the corner table, however, he smiled. Sitting on the tabletop in front of Draco were two untouched servings of ice cream. "You ordered for me?" It wasn't so much a question as a pleased observation.

"Yes, well, I knew you'd only take a small break, and I didn't want you wasting your time standing in line. Sit."

Harry did as he was told, catching sight of Draco's knee bouncing rapidly under the table and the way he was focused directly on Harry, very definitely _not_ looking at anyone else in the place. More than one person had whispered to someone else and pointed their direction already, and Harry'd been here less than a minute. Well, at least Draco had kept his word in coming. He looked down at his ice cream. "Is this strawberry?"

"Yes. Would you have preferred something else?"

"No, not at all. It happens to be my favourite."

For the first time in too long, Draco's face lit up. "Is it?"

"Yeah. How'd you guess?"

"It just seemed right. Sweet, comforting, traditional enough, a little childish. Innocent." Harry wasn't sure how he felt about having his favourite ice cream sum him up so well.

"Hm. Well, what do you have there? Raspberry? How does that fit you?"

"It's blood orange sorbet, Potter. Clean and crisp, with a little bit of bite. Tart and not too sweet. Now eat, before it melts, and tell me about your day. How goes toiling alongside the Weasleys?"

Harry took a spoonful of the ice cream, letting it slowly melt on his tongue before answering. The couple who owned this shop now was almost as skilled in their trade as Florean had been. "Well, we're getting a lot done. It's just us now, since George sent Verity home for the evening. As long as one of us, most likely Ron, doesn't hex Percy, we might even get home before eleven."

"So is that when I should come over?"

"I suppose. Or you could show up before that. I hate coming home to an empty place. Do you have any idea how nice it would be to come home and have someone already there?"

"You could always get a house elf, you know."

"That's not what I mean, and you know it. Besides that, you know how long the application and review process is with those new laws."

"I know. Anyway, how would I even get into Grimmauld Place?"

Harry felt his cheeks go a little warm. "Er. The house will, um, recognise you." He'd set those spells over a month ago, secretly hoping that they'd get to that point, close enough that they weren't just 'Harry and Draco', but also an 'us', with things that Harry could refer to using the word 'our'.

"Oh." Draco sounded a little surprised, but not upset. "Well, if that's what you want." He steered the conversation back to Harry's day, and before Harry knew it, their bowls were empty and he was due back at the shop. Draco followed him out the front door and onto the pavement. "Wait, Harry. Before you go…"

"What is it?" Harry hoped Draco was about to screw up the courage to give a simple display of affection, but thought it unlikely. Harry hadn't been kidding about owling the _Daily Prophet_ and breaking the story their way, but Draco had asked him not to. He turned around to see Draco holding a small white bag with Florean Fortescue's monogram on it. Harry liked that the new owners had chosen to keep the name and feel of the business the same.

"I thought that…the Weasleys might enjoy some refreshment as well. The boxes are charmed to keep it frozen. You don't have to tell them it's from me, if you think they won't accept it."

Harry broke into a wide grin. "Thank you. I'm sure they'll be fine with whatever it is you've chosen." Their earlier conversation came back to him. "Wait. What flavours?"

Those grey eyes flickered. "An assortment. Chocolate, vanilla, lemon…"

"Anything else?"

"…Ginger?"

Harry laughed. He should have known. "I'm sure they'll like this. I'll see you later this evening." He walked off, still wishing he'd gotten a proper goodbye, but the bag in his hand replaced most of his disappointment with pleasant feelings. At the very least, perhaps the ice cream would distract Ron from his irritation with his brother. Now that Hermione was just over a month away from her due date, he was a little twitchy. Ice cream couldn't hurt.

"Oh, good! You did come back!" Ron greeted him the moment he walked back into the shop. "I was afraid you'd decide to save yourself and hide somewhere. Hey, is that for us?"

Harry passed over the bag. "Yeah. It's actually from Draco. He thought everyone might be able to use a distraction."

"Never gave the guy enough credit," Ron said, breaking into the four containers of ice cream as George wandered over. "Maybe you were right, saying that he's changed. Got to be safer than accepting sweets from George, eh? What's this one?"

Taking a look at the pale ice cream, Harry shrugged. "Don't know." He couldn't say it with a straight face.

Harry watched Ron take a bite and held his breath. "Gingersnap. Brilliant!" He let his breath out slowly, glad he wasn't going to have to defend anyone or even ruin the inside joke. "Percy's in back, if you want to let him in on the fun. But don't trouble yourself or anything."

Tempers seemed cooler after the break, and Harry made a note to thank Draco again when he arrived home. He carried the last of the sealed boxes of love potion to the corner of the back room. Ron refused to touch them. Harry couldn't really blame him. "Ready, mate?" came Ron's call from near the door.

"Yeah. This is the last of it for now. What time is it?"

"Twenty past eleven. Time to call it a night. Hermione's probably going to be mad I'm so late, but… Family, you know? She'll understand."

"Right." Harry locked his hands together and stretched, reaching up over his head. He was used to working out, but this was a lot different from going for a run or flying or playing Quidditch. He yawned and stepped up to the Floo. "Night, Ron. I'll see you bright and early." He clapped a hand on Ron's back. "And if Percy doesn't relax tomorrow, I'll help you body bind him."

Ron laughed. "I'm holding you to that. G'night, Harry."

When Harry stepped out of the flames and into the living room at Grimmauld Place, he was surprised to find the lights off and the house silent. He shook out his robes and tossed them across the back of an armchair. "Draco?" No response. Harry's heart sank. Some little part of him had been afraid Draco's offer was too good to be true, but he'd been so happy it'd been _Draco's_ idea. But then again, Malfoy'd offered just to shut him up, hadn't he?

Kicking his shoes off, Harry sighed. Maybe he _should_ get a house elf, or find a roommate or something. He wasn't sure exactly how long he'd been actively lonely. Before he had run into Draco last year, he'd been aware of it, of course. Luna was often busy at St. Mungos. Neville was free enough over the summers, but much harder to catch once the school term had started. He only saw Ginny maybe three times a year now, during holidays and such, between the new bloke she was seeing and her match schedule. He still had Ron and Hermione, of course, but every now and then he felt as if he was intruding. He still had a good time with them, but now that they were starting their family…things were different, and he wasn't really a part of that.

He trudged upstairs, feeling more lonely and irritated by the second. He'd given up so much of his life, his entire childhood, really, to fix the world, to give everyone a normal life, full of happiness and safety, but it didn't feel like he got to share in that life. Harry knew he was just pitying himself, that his life wasn't that bad, but ever since he had gotten a taste of friendship, of love, he found himself craving it when he was alone. He knew what he was missing, now. Maybe they'd get done early enough tomorrow that he and Ron could go for a pint and he could vent about being stood up. He still held hope that Draco had a good excuse and would contact him in the morning. Perhaps he wasn't feeling well?

Harry entered his bedroom, ready to just collapse and try again tomorrow. He reached for his wand to spell the lights on, and noticed a narrow strip of light coming from the door to the en suite bathroom. He approached cautiously and opened the door. His large bathtub was full of iridescent bubbles, the emerald-tinged ones he liked best. He dipped a few fingers into the water. Still hot. Confused, he walked back into the bedroom. Maybe there was a note? There, blond hair shimmering softly in the moonlight, sat Draco. He'd fallen asleep in the overstuffed chair near the window, chin tucked into his chest. All of Harry's disappointment and irritation evaporated.

"Draco," Harry whispered, lightly shaking his shoulder. He felt bad for doing it; he wasn't sure how much sleep Draco was really getting these days, and he looked at peace.

Draco's eyes snapped open and he sat up, rubbing at the muscles in his neck. "Harry? What time is it?"

"Half-past eleven. Sorry I'm so late."

"It's fine. I must have dozed off while waiting."

"Were you planning on bathing while you waited?"

"What? No. That's for you, you twit. Running a bath for myself in a home that isn't mine would be a bit presumptuous. Besides, you need it."

Harry took an experimental sniff. "Do I really smell that bad?"

Draco rolled his eyes at him. "No, but you're covered in dust. I added a potion to your bubbles. It should minimise any soreness you'll feel in the morning, if you did any manual lifting."

Harry felt the muscles between his shoulders throb at the thought of all those boxes. "You're brilliant."

Draco snorted. "Of course I am. Now go." He got to his feet and placed a hand on Harry's hip. "Or we'll never get any sleep."

~*~

Sex with Draco was quickly becoming one of Harry's favourite things. He was a surprisingly gentle lover, though Harry thought that he might be rougher, if asked. With Ginny, he'd been worried about the technical aspects, not wanting to seem selfish, and desperate not to appear bored; he'd always tried to be good. It was so different with Draco, for more than the obvious reasons. He was responsive to the smallest of Harry's reactions, adjusting his movements and his touch according to a moan here, a change of breathing there, or the straining of Harry's muscles. He could feel passion emanating from Draco, and whenever Harry managed to elicit groans of pleasure from his lover, everything took on a new clarity he'd never experienced before.

He collapsed onto Draco's chest, completely spent, not even minding the way their skin stuck together. Draco softly ran his fingers up and down Harry's spine. After a moment, Harry rolled over and pulled Draco into his own arms. The other man was asleep moments later without a word, and Harry took a few moments to admire him before he drifted off as well. He had hated the sight of this face for so many years. Now it was one of his favourite things to look at. Funny how things changed.

Harry tilted his head forward and placed a kiss on Draco's forehead. Draco shifted and let out a sigh, briefly giving Harry a squeeze. Things weren't perfect between them, but in moments like this, Harry could almost forget that. He fell asleep wondering if this Draco, the quiet, gentle one, was the real person, or just another mask.

~*~

"Why do you always push so damned hard?" Malfoy's arms were crossed, and Harry felt himself dangerously close to blowing up. He didn't want to, but Draco could be damned infuriating, and Harry only had so much patience.

"I'm not trying to push you," he began, but that was a lie, and even he knew it. He'd been pushing, fine, but it was for Draco's own good. It was no kind of life he was living, holed up at home, hiding in Muggle London. He could embrace the part of him that belonged in the wizarding world without all the guilt for things he'd done long ago, and done unwillingly, at that. "I just know that this would be good for you."

This wasn't supposed to go this way. They were supposed to meet here at Draco's place before going to Luna's birthday party. But Draco had told him he wasn't feeling well and wouldn't make it. Harry didn't believe him. He didn't look sick. True, he was pale and a little pinched, but he was always pale. Draco had handed over the gift he'd picked out and remained steadfast in his decision not to go. Nothing Harry said changed his mind.

"Are you always so positive about _everything_?" he snapped.

Harry had had enough of this argument. "No! I never have been! I've always just followed my instincts. Sometimes, it doesn't work out." He reached out and took Draco's hand. "But usually, it does."

Draco looked down at his hand, held tight by Harry's. "So you're not sure about this, then?"

Somehow, he managed not to blow up. With a great amount of effort, he kept his voice even. "No. I feel like I _could_ be. But you won't quite let me in."

With an agitated sigh, Draco shook his head. When he spoke, his voice was much quieter.

"I let you in plenty. You know about this." He held up his other wrist, the topmost bit of the scar visible as his sleeve bunched. "You know why I'm in my line of work. You know what happened to my father. You know plenty about me."

"But I don't. For every one thing you let me see, you hide a hundred. And it's not just the big things, the things I can understand locking up. It's everything."

"What do you mean?"

He felt the conversation spiralling out of control, away from him, and dropped Draco's hand, clenching his own into fists. "I don't ever know what you're thinking! Sometimes, I can _almost_ hear or see it, but then you catch yourself and the walls go back up. Just—just let your damned guard down for once!"

Draco's voice was even lower, quieter and very restricted. "You're asking more than you realise."

"Well, if you won't do that, then what the hell are we doing here?" Draco didn't reply. It was enough to push Harry over that cliff he'd been leaning away from. "If I hadn't accidentally locked us in your crypt, you'd still be hiding in your safe little world! Do you even come out of it enough to notice anything about _me_?" He waited for an answer, breathing hard, but none came. That was it. Enough of this.

"Fine. I didn't realise that's what this really was. I'm sorry to have taken up so much of your time." He snatched up the wrapped gift from the table and headed for the front door.

"You can go back to hiding from the world," he threw over his shoulder. "With as little as you actually _live_, you might as well be dead."

Harry walked out the front door with a slam, not seeing Draco's crumpled look as he left. He'd walked nearly twenty minutes before he felt like he could Apparate to Luna's without splinching himself. He'd been looking forward to this evening, to seeing many of his friends gathered in one place, and now he just wanted to…to… He didn't even know. Go home and throw something against the wall, maybe. He paused outside the door to Luna's home and took several deep breaths. He wouldn't let Draco affect him like this. Malfoy had made his decision. What kind of relationship could they have if he wouldn't _share_ his life? At least Harry had his friends. These were people who knew him and loved him, who opened up to him, and he was only happy to return the favour.

The front door was opened by Luna's house elf. Harry greeted her and let her take the gift from him as she directed him toward the rest of the party guests. He was the last to arrive. He could thank Draco for that, too. He bit his lip. No. That was over, and he wasn't going to let the other man get to him anymore. He was here, with his friends.

"Harry!" Luna squealed, throwing her arms around his neck.

"Happy birthday, Luna." He caught his balance and gave her a peck on the cheek. She was wearing a sparkly little tiara, something he wasn't sure was donned specifically for the occasion, or if it was just an accessory she wore whenever the mood struck her. With Luna, you could never tell.

"Thank you. I'm so glad you made it. Weren't you bringing a guest, though? Where is he?"

"It's complicated, but he's not coming." He hadn't told Luna about Draco specifically, but as with many things, he got the feeling that she knew more than she let on. She'd been the one to really make him give his feelings for other men a more serious glance in the first place. And she'd given him a look similar to one that a teacher might give to a slower child when he'd spoken to her the night after kissing Malfoy for the first time. Even his best friends hadn't been so in tune with it. Hermione had been supportive, of course, and Ron had been quiet. In fact, Ron had said nothing for several minutes, then asked if Harry'd ever fancied _him_, and once Harry'd assured him that no, he hadn't, Ron had returned to acting normally.

"Oh." Luna gave him another hug. "Well, I'm glad you came. It's been too long. Don't leave tonight without setting a lunch date, hm?"

"I won't." This is what he'd needed. Time with people who wanted to share their lives with him. Hermione flagged him down from across the room and Luna pushed him toward his best friends, citing a need to check on their meal. He greeted Hermione with an awkward hug, unsure how to best embrace her with her without squishing her, and took the bottle of butterbeer Ron handed him. He saw the question on Hermione's face and headed it off. "No, he's not coming. And I don't want to talk about it. Or him. At all."

"Okay, Harry. If you're sure." Harry took a drink from the bottle and saw the look she and Ron were sharing. Ever since their days back at Hogwarts, he'd caught so many conversations that were conducted entirely in looks and expressions. He ignored this one, the "we're concerned, but he obviously won't talk about it, so what can we do?" look. He couldn't count the number of times he'd seen it. Too many times in school. When Sirius had died. When Lupin and Tonks and Fred had died. Over the years when things weren't quite right with Ginny. When he'd dropped out of Auror training only two months in.

"I am." He cast around for a subject that would make them forget that look. "Have you two settled on a name yet?"

It was the escape he'd been hoping for. They spent the next thirty minutes arguing over names, a conversation that got exactly nowhere, as they were determined not to even find out the sex of the baby before the birth. When Luna asked everyone to sit down for their meal, Hermione had the upper hand by just a fraction, reminding Ron that his first choice lent itself just a little too well to an unpleasant nickname. Harry thought it exactly the kind of name Draco would have loved to tease someone about when they were younger, and scowled. Why couldn't he stop thinking about him?

He stayed late and bid Luna a quiet goodbye on her doorstep. Ron and Hermione had left nearly an hour ago. Neville had put in a brief appearance toward the end of the party, but even he had been gone for half an hour. All his other friends and acquaintances had left for their own homes, but Harry was having trouble heading out, back to his dark and lonely house. Luna seemed to sense this and wasn't pushing him out her door.

"I did want to thank you again for the gifts, Harry. They were lovely. And so personal."

Harry blushed. He'd kept forgetting to pick up Luna's gift, and three days ago, Draco had told him not to bother with it, and that he'd find something for her. Harry had been apprehensive about it, but had been engrossed enough in his new client at work that he'd agreed. When Luna had opened her gifts, no one had been more surprised than Harry. He'd expected something simple and basic, perhaps a fashionable scarf, as Draco could be trusted to find something in fashion a lot more than Harry could. Instead, Luna had pulled out a small charm bracelet with a Ravenclaw charm and a book on something Muggles referred to as 'pet therapy', written by a Healer with an interest in the subject. "I'm glad you liked them." He accepted another hug, wishing he could seem as content with his life as Luna always did with hers. He took a look at his watch. "It's late. I should be going."

"If you'd like. We're still on for the first of February, right? Lunch at one?"

"Of course."

"Then I'll meet you at the park, in our usual spot. Take care of yourself, Harry. I'm so glad you came."

Harry Apparated home, wishing the calm and caring aura Luna gave off would follow him there. Very little warmed up his house the way he liked. It was simply too much space with too few people. He shivered as he slipped under the covers. He resolutely blocked the earlier events of the evening from his mind and tried to focus on the few pleasant hours with his friends as he fell asleep.

It was a lost cause, and he knew it, but that didn't keep him from trying. Maybe in the morning, it would be clearer and he wouldn't care as much. He held on to that thought and rolled over, staying firmly on what he couldn't help but think of as his side of the bed, as if his body insisted this was only temporary, when his mind insisted on permanency.

~*~

Three weeks had gone by since he'd walked out on Malfoy, and he hadn't heard a word. It had been all the answer he'd needed, really. His friends had been as supportive as they could, given how little Harry had told them about everything. He'd let Hermione drag him out for ice cream one Thursday, not in the mood, but happy enough to spend some time with her. Once she had the baby, he likely wouldn't have a chance to see her much on her own. Ron was a great friend, too, but there were things about spending time with Hermione and Luna that he didn't get to experience with anyone else he knew. It was the little things—a hand on his arm, a light touch accompanied by a laugh—that seemed to come easily to those two. He didn't know if this was something that he might have noticed with his own mother, if she had lived, or if it was just them. Luna had been that way for years, and Hermione had become more like her in the months since she'd become pregnant. He'd pointed out the change once to her, and she'd scolded him about stereotypes and hormones and sexism until he'd dropped the subject. He hadn't meant anything by it. Ron was more likely to nudge him, or pound him on the back, and that was alright, too. It was all just familiarity and openness, and that was fine with him.

"What do you feel like, Harry? Strawberry as always?"

Harry shook his head. That didn't seem to be what he wanted. "Dark chocolate with orange peel."

Hermione wrinkled her nose at him. "Isn't that a little bitter?"

He shrugged. "It just sounds right. What are you having?"

"Cinnamon and caramel swirl."

"Good thing your family's full of dentists. That sounds like it'll rot your teeth."

Hermione smacked his arm lightly. "That's enough out of you, Harry Potter. Is it just me, or is this line taking much longer than usual?"

Harry shrugged and stood up on the tips of his toes to see if he could identify the holdup. "Probably some kid who can't make up his mind. Fifty flavours are hard on a kid, especially when they change so often."

He slowly sank back down to his regular height. There did appear to be a child holding everyone else up, but that wasn't the problem. Standing two places behind the child was a blond head he knew all too well. Something wrenched inside him, and he found he had trouble breathing.

He knew he missed Draco, as much as he had been trying to deny it. Luna had told him not to fight the feelings he might have, and that it was unhealthy. But it took seeing him to realise just how _much_ he missed him. It was like being kicked in the chest. Harry knew he was staring, and that any second he was going to be caught doing so, but he couldn't tear his eyes away. Draco's hair was soft and natural, the way Harry liked it, and he looked uncomfortable but not displeased, standing next to someone Harry assumed was a friend. The woman Draco was with said something with a high little laugh, and Draco turned to face her, catching sight of Harry as he did so. Draco watched him stare for a few moments and then those grey eyes locked with his, and Harry was surprised with what he saw there. It could have been fifteen years ago. There was no warmth in those eyes—simply flat, cold steel. It was the last thing he'd expected. No apology, no affection, no worry. Not even an explanation.

After a moment, Draco's lips narrowed so far they nearly disappeared and he said something to the woman, three words Harry couldn't catch, and turned away. The woman moved to look behind herself at him, and Harry saw as she sneered that it was Pansy Parkinson. He hadn't seen her in nearly four years, but unlike Draco, she didn't seem to have warmed to him any in the intervening time. Putting a comfortable, protective arm around Draco's waist, she put herself squarely between the two men, blocking Draco from Harry's view entirely.

He mumbled something to excuse himself from Hermione and walked outside, ducking into the closest alley. He leaned up against the wall. He hadn't realised how strongly he'd held to the hope that what they'd had actually meant something to Draco. Some small part of him prickled. _You should have known better_, a voice whispered savagely. _He's Slytherin. He's a Malfoy. They don't care about anyone but themselves. Other people are just useful tools, things to be manipulated until they achieve their goals. You were his plaything. Nothing more_. Harry tried to ignore that voice, but it was oddly persistent. He didn't want to believe that. He thought that Draco had changed. But what other evidence had Draco given him to the contrary? He certainly hadn't said anything during their final conversation that indicated otherwise. He hadn't even been able to scrounge up an answer, and really, that said volumes all on its own.

"Harry? Are you alright?"

Harry opened his eyes and looked down at Hermione. "I'm fine. Don't worry about me."

Hermione's face said she clearly didn't believe him and was going to ignore the second sentence entirely. "Well, let's get out of here."

"I thought you wanted ice cream." He wasn't going to let Malfoy ruin their plans. That was just stupid. So he'd gotten confirmation on what he'd accused him of during their fight. What the hell _had_ they been doing together? What had made him think he could make it work?

"I seem to have lost my appetite for it. Come on, Harry. We'll go somewhere else. Let's take a walk." She tugged at his hand, and he let himself be led. She didn't say anything, which was both unexpected and appreciated. She had the tendency to nag now and then, but when he really needed it, she could be quiet. When they reached a little park nestled near the end of Diagon Alley, she sat down on a bench near the pond and gestured for him to sit beside her. She sighed in that way that meant she was going to lecture him on something, and Harry braced himself for it.

But she didn't say what he'd been expecting. There was no admonition to get over Draco, to accept the loss. She simply took his hand, gave it a squeeze, and told him she was glad for his friendship. "It's funny how we'll sometimes realise how much someone means to us, out of nowhere, doesn't it?"

"I guess so."

"I'm not only grateful we're still close, but that you and Ron are. I know that when things are difficult between us, we can each count on you."

"…Are things difficult? For you two?"

Hermione smiled gently, looking out at the single duck on the pond. "We're fine, Harry. But no relationship is perfect. We're both under a lot of stress. There's the stress that comes with preparing for our baby, of course, and there are expectations and worry all wrapped up in that. He has some important cases in the ministry, and it's taking more adjustment than I realised for me not to be at work every day. I do what I can at home, but it's not the same as being in the office. I love what I do at the DMLE."

"You are a great researcher."

"Thank you. What I'm trying to say is that things are more work than they appear, and happiness isn't constant and instantaneous. We work at it. Some days it's so easy. Others, it's not. But there are so many little things in life that make the difference between a good day and a bad day. Noticing those things makes such a difference. Just… remember that, okay?"

Harry nodded. He could do that. Hermione sighed and shifted closer, resting her head on his shoulder. He raised up his hand and rested it on her back, smoothing her hair over her jacket. Life wasn't so bad. He had a job he liked most days, and better friends than he deserved. That could be enough. He didn't need anything else.

~*~

The next day, he found himself heading to the Briarwood Pub after work. He hadn't been here in nearly a month, afraid he'd run into Draco, and unsure of what he'd say to him if he saw him. Now that he'd run into him, he knew the answer. He'd only been able to stare, like a coward. And Draco's reaction made it clear that that was probably best. But damn it, he _missed_ Draco, despite his best efforts not to. He missed sitting here with him, chatting quietly, just enjoying his company. And that was just the start of it. Besides, he wouldn't let himself be chased off from one of his favourite places by someone who didn't even care for him.

Harry walked in and headed toward the bar. There were more people in here than usual, and it wasn't until he looked up and noticed a few decorations that he realised why. Valentine's Day. He turned around quickly, headed for the door. This had definitely been the wrong night to come in for a pint. He was halfway across the room when he heard his name being called. He turned around, letting just a little bit of hope fill him.

Draco was nowhere to be seen. But Nick was waving him over to the bar. Sighing, Harry headed over. "Hello, Nick."

"Harry. Haven't seen you in a while."

"I know. I've been…busy. Look, I was just leaving. Didn't realise what day it was."

Nick snorted. "I know. Not the normal crowd. I didn't wave you over for that. I have something for you." Harry raised his eyebrows. What in Merlin's name could the bartender have for him? Rummaging around underneath the bar, Nick finally let out a triumphant grunt. "Here. These were left for you. The first one with me, and the second with one of the other bartenders last night. I thought you would have been in here before this. Greg was, and I got used to seeing you together."

Harry's breath hitched just a little. So Draco had been in without him. He took the letters from Nick's hand and sat down at the end of the bar while Nick got back to taking orders from the other patrons. He recognised the graceful handwriting and hesitated, finally giving in to his curiosity and pulling out the letter on top.

_Dear Harry,_

_I know you might not want to hear from me, might not even get far into this letter once you see it's from me, if Nick didn't already tell you. But I have to try, even if it's for nothing._

_I'm so sorry for the way things have gone. I've played that last conversation over and over in my head, and only now can I think of things I should have said. You asked if I ever notice anything about you. Of course I did—I do. I know more about you than I know about anyone else. _

_I know you still worry about people, even if they tell you they're fine. I know how much you value your friends—more than most people value their families. I know that investing in that silly joke shop means more to you than most people could guess. I know the way you murmur in your sleep if your dreams are unpleasant, and that you never, no matter the temperature, sleep with your feet under the blankets. I know that after a long day, what you want is quiet and a soft touch until you unwind. _

_And I thought I knew that we had something good together. I do hope I'm not wrong about that. Am I?_

_You know where to find me if you want to tell me I'm not wrong (and oh, how I hope you do). If we happen to run into one another, give me your answer. If it's a time where conversation isn't an option, just… smile, and tug on your ear. If I am wrong, don't do anything. And then I'll know._

_Yours,_

_Draco_

Harry swallowed hard and opened the second letter. The writing was sharp and jagged, though still distinctively Draco's.

_Potter—_

_You don't have to worry about another letter after this one. I got your meaning, loud and clear. Thank you for letting me know that I was, in fact, incorrect in my assumptions. It couldn't have been any clearer, really. Sorry for wasting your time._

—_Malfoy_

Harry clutched the letters in his hand, wrinkling the thick, expensive paper. So many thoughts hit him at once, and he felt a little light-headed. So this is why Draco had looked so cold. He'd thought—he'd thought Harry had decided that they were better off not being together. If only he'd gotten that first letter.

The first letter. It had thrown everything into sharp relief. Draco _had_ noticed. He _had_ made an effort. Harry supposed he should have known. There were examples scattered throughout their relationship, but he'd been too stupid to see them, focused instead on what he _expected_ from Draco, from a relationship in general, as if he was some sort of expert on either. He listed a few of them in his head. The offer to meet for ice cream and sleep over. The bubble bath. The agreement to go to that concert, and then staying through till the end, even though he obviously didn't want to. Knowing through some sort of instinct what Harry's favourite flavour of ice cream was. Buying desserts for the Weasleys. And picking out a present for Luna's birthday, going on only the things Harry had mentioned about her in passing. There were dozens of other little things, and Harry thought about what Hermione had told him only yesterday. He'd been so _stupid_. But maybe it wasn't too late.

He nearly ran from the pub, making his way to Draco's building within minutes. He took the lift up to the third floor, waiting impatiently. Apparating wouldn't have been quick enough for his tastes. He slowed as he approached Draco's flat, trying to catch his breath. He was suddenly sure Malfoy wouldn't open the door. There was no way for him to know who was on the other side of the door, no peephole or buzzer, and yet Harry was still sure. He sent up a desperate little wish to Merlin that he at least got a chance to see Draco and knocked on the door.

After a few moments, he heard movement behind the door, and the sound of locks being turned. Draco opened the door slowly, and after it was open, Harry moved in front of the opening where he could be seen. Draco blinked, and Harry caught surprise and desperation and hope on that face in the split second before it froze over and turned hostile. But there had been something there. True emotion. This was what he'd expected to see when he'd run into Draco at Florean's, just a hint that Draco was affected. The cold reflection was a shield, but a thin, brittle one. If he could just melt it a little more… Maybe… Maybe he could fix this. "Draco, wait."

"What is it you want, Potter?" The words were icy and venomous, the voice of young Draco back at Hogwarts. The tone cut through him, but he ignored that pain.

"I just want to talk to you."

"Then you'll just have to keep on wanting. There's nothing further I have to say to you." He started to shut the door on Harry, but Harry wasn't having any of that. This was too damned important. He stuck his foot in the doorway, wincing as Draco attempted to shut it anyway. "I'd like you to leave."

Harry thrust the letters into his face. "I want to talk about these."

Draco paused, eyes fixed on the pieces of paper. "Why? Why now?"

"Because I only got them tonight. Twenty minutes ago. I'd never seen them before that. Just… Please, let me in."

Slowly, Draco opened the door. He didn't invite Harry in, but he stepped out of the way as Harry entered the dark flat. "You're in. Now what?"

Taking a deep breath, Harry rustled the letters again. "Your letter. The first one. I understand. I thought that you weren't trying, that our relationship was just something to do. I had all these expectations, and I thought I knew best, but… I was wrong." That phrase had always been so hard to say, but there was no way to make this work without admitting it.

"You were, were you?" Draco's eyes were still cold, made harder by the lack of light in the room, but Harry thought he saw something else behind them.

"I was. I'm sorry for what I said to you as I left. It was cruel, and you didn't deserve it. I was just so frustrated. I had hoped that I could show you that you didn't need to hide, and that we could have so much together if you'd just try harder to get out into the world. I thought that…that I could be enough for you at first, and then I tried pushing you further. Telling you to spend time with friends. Dragging you out to functions and gatherings. It was so maddening that you wouldn't just _open up_."

"It's not that I won't open up, Potter. It's that I _can't_. I'm not even sure I know how to, anymore."

"See, that's where we're both wrong. You had been, all along, and I just didn't see it, because it wasn't what I thought I wanted from you. I love you, but I've been too stubborn to let that matter." He waited for Draco to say something, but there was no response. He couldn't even see his face properly in the dark. And he had admitted his feelings for the other man, even going as far to say that he loved him, and this was how it went? He'd held onto the hope that this was something he could fix, especially after reading that first letter, but if Draco didn't even care that he'd laid his soul bare in front of him, then it really was a lost cause. He needed to look into those eyes and know that it was over. No more guessing. "_Lumos_."

"_Nox_," was the immediate, husky reply, and the light went out before Harry could see anything. He took that to mean that his apology was too late and let out a shaky sigh. He had tried.

Before he got anywhere in the dark, one of Draco's hands grabbed Harry's wrist. Lips found his, desperate and questing, and Harry returned the kiss, tasting the salt of Draco's tears and the sweetness of his passion. Draco's kisses had always been more expressive than his words, and Harry felt as if he might drown in this one. There was forgiveness and urgency, and threaded throughout that, something that Harry could only hope was love. Their relationship wasn't perfect, never would be, but that was alright. It was the little things that defined it, and Harry could now see those in an entirely different light—newfound light, as some might say.


End file.
